


Red

by thinskinnedcalciumsipper



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinskinnedcalciumsipper/pseuds/thinskinnedcalciumsipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a rearrangement of a famous fable, pyrocentric, non-explicit, rated m for upsetting complications</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

__[...his eyes were red.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgKQueNc7SY)  
*

Once upon a time, there lived a child known in its hill village for its filial piety; its exemplary honesty, amiability and goodness; and for the red hood it wore habitually.

The village in which the child lived stood at the shore of a vast and ancient forest, wild and intrepid, a rich resource which dominated the lives and livelihoods of the village folk, apothecaries, potters, woodcutters and hunters. It lived at the hem of the village in a lovely ivy-eaten cottage in the cherry trees and sweet clover by the little stream from which the child carried water and caught fish. It lived with its father, a doctor of medicine, a sombre and sometimes unfeeling fellow, but an exemplary parent whose child wanted for nothing.

Now, the venerable father, the good doctor, worked indefatigably to provide for his child; he wandered the village all day every day but the Lord's day, peddling his medicines and treating ails for coin to trade for the childs red dresses, milk and bread and books, but in boroughs so small and in that wayward time a constant income could not be counted on, and inevitably overwhelmed by the volume of work required to earn a living wage, the doctors material affection for his child sometimes trickled, sometimes waned.

Fortunately, the doctors wifes father -- that is, the child's grandfather -- lived still in the ancestral home of the poor ladys progeny petty miles into the wild wood, and often the doctor escorted his child here to be took up; for as great as the fathers love was for his child, the grandfathers love was greater still.

For the doctor had his life, his education, his vocation, his reverent convalescents and memories of his wife in addition to his child; the grandfather had only the child, had only its happy laugh to fill the vast silence of his home, had only its brown knees, pink fingers and red hood to disrupt the uniform white walls and suffocating white sound of his empty, empty adobe-pale rooms.

So they lived peacefully in this way for many years, the doctor and his child, and the stalwart satellite of the loving grandfather, until one day, as summer simmered, war descended on the country.

Perhaps a sentimental angel saw the child was deeply good and saw fit to draw around its hill village a circle in the earth, for though the tattoo of war stalked audibly the perimeter of the village green -- even its neighboring dells, in the wild night, devoured by licking flame and gunfire -- the doctor and the child lived.

Even so, paid daily by an income of atrocities, summoned by his oath to circumvent suffering, and unwilling to expose his child, the doctor resolved to send the child away.

So the doctor filled a wicker basket with a silk envelope of secret words and a feast of bread and cheese, cured pork, cured olives, a bottle of brisk cordial of his own design; he helped the child into its boots, tied the childs pinafore and the red hood the child dearly adored beneath its chin, and kissed the childs head, both its cheeks, and the palms of both its hands, and he instructed it:

"My dear, take these treats to grandfather - you well know the way - stay with him, be obliging and obedient, honor him as you honor me until I send for you to return.

"Do not - mind me, child - on your way, do not delay for any reason. Do not depart the path for any reason. Do not speak to any one or any thing."

"Do you understand?," demanded he, and the child affirmed it did, and the doctor indulged himself in holding his child for a long time, in the drifting speckled shade of cherry trees the sweet breeze sleepily turned.

"Go," urged the doctor at last, and the child did, and he looked after it only briefly before he hurried weary-worn and with heavy heart to the town.

Though it left its father unhappily, the child found the solemnity of the state of things falling off it as springtide collapses snowbanks. It is a challenge to stand in the wood in summer and succumb to sorrow! for the wood was deep and brilliant, a busy reef of tall mushroom-encrusted trunks and seething greenery through which crystal damselflies and bleating bluebirds weaved, and the child was alone in its pacific enormity - but far from foreboded, the child rejoiced in its newfound freedom, and its gait became skipping, and as it trespassed the boundary of the canopied deep wood it emitted song.

It traveled this way for some time, down of the hill moonways a while, down daisy-meadow and feathered field till the hill graded to valley and the sun rang overhead at the crown of heaven, and then it came to pass; in a narrow bend in the viridian glen where some shivering sunlight slipped in, barring the patchwork path, stood there the wolf.

"Little child," smiled the wolf, though the child saw only a tall, thin man in princely clothes of exquisite design, head dipped in salutation, "how have you wandered into these woods?"

The child, a sweet and simple soul, recounted that it sojourned to meet its grandfather in his estate therein.

"Ahh," said the wolf - how refined and fine his voice! How regal his smile! An exactly irresistible man! He adjusted his crisp collar and sapphire tiepin in a way the child could not fail to be impressed by - "I see you are a good child, that honors its grandfather."

The child only smiled, and the wolf returned that smile, and it was a pleasing smile, indeed. Almost imperceptibly, the wolf approached.

"And whereabouts," inquired the wolf further, "does your very fortunate grandfather reside?"

and the child replied, just along the woodcutters path, just this way.

"I see, I see," said the wolf, walking around the child to perceive it from all angles, stroked the childs head and plucked up the childs chin.

"Do you hurry so," continued he, "you can not retire a while to my home? I have sweets and treats for good children, I know many delightful games, and together," here, the wolf put his hands insistently around the child, his thin fine hands so soft, and smiled very wide, very wide, "we will share a scrumptious meal."

and the child replied it could not, it had been admonished to not delay for any reason, nor to depart the path.

"Good child!" praised the wolf, holding the child now in his very arms, and his smile was really so handsome, his demeanor so gentle, his words elegant and beneficent, and carrying the child up the path from whence he came he kissed it delicately in the cup of its collarbone, and his feet when he tread did not make a noise.

"Such a discerning child," said the wolf in an undertone, as if admitting a wonderful secret, "I must reward with favor."

What is it? wondered the child.

"Why, only look ahead!" and the child did, and beheld a riot of color; a little beyond the pebbled wayside, only a little, amongst matronly pine and sororal sorrel in pillars of amber sunbeams an abundance of beautiful red poppies were bursting in beds like bloodstains.

The child alighted, clapping its hands in delight, and the wolf laughed aloud.

"Will your old grandfather not delight in these happy artifacts, which resemble you so, when you are obliged to depart him? Go on," urged the wolf, releasing the child, producing a ribbon to tie the poppies in, and depressing it in the childs hand, he patted its backside and repeated, "go on."

And putting aside its basket, the child dropped into the happy task of gathering the cheerful confections in its apron skirt which it drew out into a purse, and its song returned, clearer, brighter and sweeter for its more ebullient mood.

The wolf observed the scene, standing in the cryptic quiet with slender hands neatly folded and a benevolent smile which did not reach his eyes and despite the delectable odor of poppies another scent came to him, a novel scent, and better. It did not emit from the basket.

The child in the red hood saw the wolf watching it, smiling his handsome, handsome, handsome smile, and looked away and back again, and the wolf had gone.


	2. ii

The grandfather, an immense man who filled his bed gratuitously, sat abruptly up at the knock which rattled his parlor door.

"Is it my little grandchild?" called he, who had been warned by courier of the childs arrival.

"It is I, grandfather," came the small cherry-sweet reply, and scrubbing sleep from his eyes bid the child to come in, come in at once, and the child did, and plodded audibly through the barren house until it burst abloom through the door to the brightly lit bedroom of the grandfather

and how blessed felt the kind old grandfather, accepting into his arms his heart, the mortal distillation of his only child, the happy laughing little one in the poppy-red hood!

The grandfather would not know what killed him, nor that he was killed, for he was killed quickly and painlessly, and embracing his beloved, he died a happy man.


	3. iii

The child in the red hood, with circlets of spicy poppies woven in its basket brim and crowning its head, walked brazenly in the wild wood which it, young and heedless heart, felt it had befriended. Noon had passed and the burgundy simmer of evening evinced in the distance, the bolero of birdsong diminishing to a contented minuet, the heat of the day full and still, covering contentedly the ribbon of earth woven through the depths of wood.

Presently, in navigating the path, it came upon a squat, broad shack, huddled beyond a squalid and trodden yard by the stocked wayside, and in the yard stood a man, a squat, broad laborer, arms upraised paused in swinging an ax over a half-carved roast of wood.

The child paused in surprise, and the woodcutter, putting on a cordial grin, put his ax aside, patted his brow with the sleeve of his rough red shirt, and said, "hello."

The child gravely nodded.

"Are you well?" the woodcutter requested, very politely, having swept off his hat which he held to his breast, "where are you going?"

The child replied it traveled to meet its grandfather, in the wild heart of the wood, and the woodcutters grin broadened, and the child saw that atop his obstinate jaw and rough, dwarven features the woodcutter possessed a shock of sensitive, intelligent and very kind eyes.

"And where is your father?" the woodcutter inquired politely.

The child hesitated at this, looking at the halo of heady blossoms which dressed its basket.

"You aren't all alone!" the woodcutter exclaimed, and the child replied it was.

"Well, now!," answered the woodcutter, "isn't it an unsafe journey for a helpless, little child to undertake? Don't you know there are wild animals in the woods? Now, wouldn't you like me to walk with you?"

The child replied, no, thank you, that wasn't necessary, for it was nearly home.

"Valiant thing, aren't you?" The woodcutters speech was coarse and slangy, but somehow very good to hear. He patted the child in a friendlike way on the head, and put out to the child the handle of his ugly little ax.

"Well, now, my little friend," said he jovially, jest tangible in the air, "would you consent at least to take arms with you?"

To the woodcutters astonishment, the child accepted the token. The woodcutter laughed out loud.

"Bold child!" praised he, and gave it to the child, with an encouraging clap on its back. "Have it, then! and hurry along, now, you hear?," and the child did.

The ax head, heavy and unwieldsome, cut an anchors groove in the clovered path it was dragged, but the child found it liked it very much, liked its hard and stalwart character which recalled its father, and the child held tender feelings at arms length for the trot into the humid grove where it found in a brief fairy-filled clearing the crooked cottage faithfully standing, its cabbage garden and red brick well, its rainbow stone cloister, and a peculiar odor barely perceptible permeating from around the front door.

"Is it my little grandchild?" the child heard call its grandfather, who had been warned by courier of the childs arrival.

and, cherry-sweet, the child replied it was.

Bid come in, come in at once, the child did, and throwing open the door to the cottage it trotted in only to stop, astonished, at the sight of his grandfather, or rather, the lack thereof; because all shut up was the grandfathers quarters from whence issued his kindly beckon, the windows closed and curtains drawn, narrow walls barely lit by a flickering tallow candle standing on the bedside drawer, and the form of the grandfather almost visible, even in the blistering heat, tucked beneath the quilt into bed. The room smelled very peculiar.

"Come, come," said his grandfather, a little quietly, "my little one, come into bed with me."

The child obeyed, putting aside its basket and ax and crawling into the parted arms, inquiring gently did the grandfather feel ill? for he sounded strange.

"A little, I fear," confessed the grandfather, which the child felt cover it up with the quilt shut in against the furnace of his belly "only a little fever of which I'm certain you can cure me.

"Won't you?" asked the grandfather, and the child nodded vigorously, causing the grandfather to laugh, and it was a very strange laugh indeed, too high, too quiet, subdued in a way the child couldn't recall the grandfather sounding, and the grandfathers hands held the child too tight, touching with shivering avarice the childs legs, back and the crown of its red hood where it lay at his throat.

The child asked the grandfather, why did his hands seem strange, gripping it so?

"Why," said the grandfather, intimately cupping the childs cheeks, "they longed to hold you, grandchild, to pet your head, to pluck you up, carry you about, and rock you to sweet dreams."

The child considered this as the grandfathers oddly hungry hands considered it, peering in the dark for a glimpse of the grandfathers kindly smile in the vague impression of face which hovered over it, and presently, it asked the grandfather why he looked at it so, so intensely.

"These old eyes aren't as keen as they once were," explained the grandfather patiently, "and how eagerly they have anticipated drinking up the sight of you, my sweet small one!"

and the grandfather began to kiss the child, but the kisses were not quite what the child expected; the grandfathers mouth was too hot, and the kisses given too hastily, and too hard, and the child felt ill at ease, and asked its grandfather, why did his mouth assault it so?

"Of course," murmured the grandfather, finding the childs mouth and amidst the tender kiss he insisted upon it admitted, "it is, my dear, to eat you with."

Starting in surprise the child saw then his grandfather was not his grandfather but a thing which wore his grandfather; a snarl of evil intent, of dark and desperate wants, a bad black animal like the foul-smelling knots one sometimes discovers in basin drains; and, alarmed, the child scrambled away, out of the imposters arms, out of reach; collapsing on the floor with a crash, its grasping hand found the staff of the woodcutters ax where it protruded from its basket and frantically swung it, and the grandfather-which-was-not-grandfather opened like a poppy flower, and an astonishing vividity and profusion of red flowed forth.

Infused with insensate terror, the child threw the ax again, and again, and in the third strike the ax slipped from its shivering fingers; the candle which stood sentinel at the bedside was struck from its post, and it fell with the heavy lead ax head into the basket of goodies; there was a musical crash as the bottle of spirits was opened and there then a brilliant bud of fire bloomed.

The child looked at the red mess now illuminated, the red which saturated the grandfathers bed, the red in which its hands had been dressed, and the red of the rosy, merry fire which ate up the straw of the basket, the bread, cheese and meat it had carried to his grandfather, the flowers it had picked and the secret words; the fire which leapt audaciously up upon the feet of the bedside table it had descended from.

Amazed, the child watched from the hall threshold the bright fire devour the grandfathers bedroom. The child watched from the yard the fire devour the grimacing cottage, the crisp white paint blackening, stripping in curls. The child watched from the footpath the roof collapse, the windows burst, liquid ruby spray smoldering in the garden, taking root in the wooden stairs and well roof, panicking in the soft dark soil where it floundered, the child watched the fire gobbled up the home, the wolf and the dear old grandfather.

The child lay where it fell in the blushing earth what seemed a long time, watching the fire unravel. It lay as the woodcutter, investigating the signal and stench of smoke, discovered it in the brilliant twilight almost sleeping, its face in its hands, and it lay as the woodcutter plucked it up in his arms and carried it away from the path of the fires rampage, up the old wood path to his homely shack, where a long while later, they married.


End file.
